


Crimson in Thy Eyes (Painted Red by Pain)

by orphan_account



Category: Thomas Sanders, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety is Not Okay, Blood, Emotional Trauma, Illness, M/M, Major Illness, Minor Swearing, Orphaned Work - Freeform, Panic Attacks, Prinxiety - Freeform, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Trauma, Vomiting, Whump, idk how tag this is my first fic on ao3, logicality - Freeform, will tag as I go along?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-09-25 07:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9808787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Anxiety was Anxiety for a reason.And when the others forgot that reason, Anxiety crumbled.Anxiety crumbled and broke.And who knows who can fix him?





	1. Prologue: Fires Alight

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is my first work on ao3! I hope you all like it, and please, if you have any constructive criticism, tell me! I'd really like to improve.

               Blazing red, gloomy lines, and dull walls. Gleaming silver, beaten handle, dark figure, hooded eyes, broken bones, broken voice, broken mind, broken – _what’s happening?_

               Crimson, steel, fabric, hands, grabbing, tearing, colours – _everything is red_ – screaming, hands, wailing, pleading, praying – _god, please, someone help_ – screeching, pushing, slipping, falling – everything is going too fast – thud, crack, clink, red, run, sounds, white, chaos, dark, pain –

          _Nothing._


	2. Chapter 1: The Fire is Stoked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fire is stoked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please point out if there are any errors... Thank you!

* * *

 

               There’s a figure in a dimly lit room, donning dark garb and looking ~~feeling~~ so much smaller than it is. It’s shaking vigorously, tossing and turning despite the painful fetal position that it slumbers in. It does so for more than six hours.

\---

               Anxiety lies in a dark corner, slumped over and around himself in slumber. His bones ache in protest at the position he’s curled into. His fetal stance looks painful, with his shoulders tense and his back strained. A resounding clang echoes around the room he’s in – dark, much like the clothes he’s wearing – and there’s a jolt that emits from him. A louder echo of the tune, and he jerks violently in his sleep. A final, more silent clanging sounds throughout the room, and he stills.

               Moments after, Anxiety rouses, his fingers shaking and a cold sweat breaking throughout his lithe frame. His honey-brown hair is slicked with sweat, grease, and oil, making his crown stick up in all directions. His clammy skin is pale and bloodless, looking ill and with a sallow tinge to it. His clothes – all black in colour – seem to be creased at every other corner, a telltale sign of the man’s restless sleep. Then, as he rights himself up, he finally decides to open his eyes.

               Deep, dark brown orbs meet the dim light of his room for what seems to be the first time. Yet despite the brightness of it all around him, his dark brown eyes mimic a deep and dark abyss. The emotive oak brown of his irises seem to mix with the jet black pupil in the centre of his eyes, leading to an everlasting pit of sorrow in his dark orbs. His pupils are going in and out of focus, much like his breathing, which is coming in uneven gasps and swallows. Minutes pass, and his laboured breathing only gets worse, with heaves mixed into the painful gasps, back once more protesting as Anxiety curls around his torso in wishes to ease the pain in his chest. The moments drag on, and the feeling of his heart wanting to jump out of his throat finally ceases, as he can at last find it in himself to take in enough air to fill his lungs. His body finally finds enough leeway to relax, and he basks in the current loss of turmoil.

               Abruptly, his self-proclaimed victory is cut short, as yet another clang booms around his room. His head whips around to the source of the sound, eyes blown wide in fear. Three figures emerge from the doorway, light pouring from behind them and contrasting much to the calm light in the first figure’s room. They step forward with loud stomps, and the Anxiety, dragging himself to move backwards and up against the dark walls of his room. His clothing – a plain black shirt with a checker black and grey jacket as his top and black pants – drags along with him, and he’s almost positive he’s going to get them stuck on the wooden floor or something to add to the overall fright he already feels.

               He doesn’t need the excess fear.

               Because this is his, right now.

               Three figures, carbon copies of him, glare right at him, making him feel so much smaller than he already feels. Then, he notices their postures, and they all seem ready to pounce on him. One’s back is slouched over, closing in on him, giving him little space to even try escaping their cumulative grip. The other is rigid, a testament to the rage that’s bubbling beneath the man’s skin. Anxiety is afraid of both. But he’s most afraid of the last one.

               The last figure stands with a composed manner, yet disappointment seeps through each and every pore of that final man. The man is in every bit regal. And that’s why Anxiety wouldn’t doubt it if that man found Anxiety fit for execution. Hung on the gallows, public execution, death by poison; he feels that if the man could do it, he would do exactly those to Anxiety right now. Actually, that venomous glare is probably every bit of poison in the world concentrated into hard oak irises.

               He fears even more when they open their mouths.

               “ _What the absolute hell did you do?!_ ”

               “ **You were supposed to tell him where to go! To go where it was safe! Not to run aimlessly and –“**

               “ _God, this entire thing is your fault!_ ”

               “Why can’t you just think for once and stop worrying? You’re his anxiety, aren’t you? His fears? Then why can’t you tell him what to do so he doesn’t get hurt? You’re supposed to keep him _safe_. Not be pointless – and – 

               “- **_and stupid._** ” 

\---

               Anxiety freezes, the words crashing into him. The three figures turn tail, stomping once more out of the room. The last man doesn’t forget to send him a look of – pity? Sadness? No.

_Hatred._

               Just before he leaves the door.

               That’s when Anxiety turns stone cold.

               He doesn’t even register that he’s turned so, _so_ cold, with his body moving on its own. His breathing stops and starts on and off, and his fingers are grabbing porcelain skin. He curls into himself, looking like a closed fist with every inch of his skin touching skin if possible. White is appearing everywhere, then suddenly everything has turned grey. His arms tug his legs closer, painfully straining joints and muscles with each aggressive pull. Pictures, memories, _words_ flash in his mind. He doesn’t understand anything and everything _hurts_ _and_ –

               He _crashes_.


	3. Chapter 2: The Fire's Embers Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fire's embers finally light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whee!! So this is a pretty early update, but that's only because I already plotted this. Don't expect the other updates to be like this (I'm sorry but my schedule is so hectic).  
> HOWEVER!  
> MINOR TRIGGER WARNING:  
> There's a brief - very brief - mention of blood here. Please be warned.  
> Not beta(ed). All errors are mine. Please tell me if you see any.

* * *

                Two days pass.

\---

                Anxiety is still curled tightly around himself, skin as pale as the moon. His volumetric jacket hangs loosely off of his frame, and his shirt is already beginning to drape on the floor, even despite him curling around himself while clutching his clothes tight. His hair is unfashionably wild, brought by bouts of pained movement in his uneasy sleep.

                He hasn’t done anything for the past two days.

                And while most people – even him – would have appreciated that on normal days, these weren’t normal days.

                Because that also meant he hadn’t eaten for two days. He hadn’t been able to get food into his system, nor any water, nor  _anything_  to keep him going. Because he couldn’t.

                So he just floats, in and out of sleep, bursts of weakness and pain spiking in each waking hour.

                And he just keeps sinking.

\---

                Morality noticed that the other Emotion hadn’t exited his brooding room since Wednesday, and today was Saturday. What with that small amount of contact, somebody would surely have decided that they should try and pry themselves from their room. He grew worried, as Morality would always do in these situations, but the other two Emotions made sure to remind him of other duties, which fixed his unsure resolve into a steadfast one.

                 _Take care of what needs to be taken care of first._

                Logic, then, noticed that the ‘emo’ Emotion had last tried to contact them on Wednesday, as well. Wednesday seemed to be a pretty hectic day, now that they think of it. That was also the last day he’d seen the other Emotion get some food into his system, or at least some form of sustenance to remain in his physical form. He didn’t feel quite as easy with the aura hanging in the air around him as the spread of anxiety and worry blossomed. Yet he had other activities to attend to, which required solid thinking and hard-headed facts along with blunt words.

                 **Think of how to act right now and do it in a logical way.**

                But Prince hadn’t seemed to mind the looming and dark atmosphere surrounding them. He could even feel it, in a sense – what with being in the same mind and feeling or knowing what others felt or thought – yet he decided to pay it no heed. Of course, he would think back to Wednesday and think of how that was the last day any of them had seen the dark Emotion, and what other chaotic events occurred that day; he, once again, paid no heed to it. His creativity and joy was needed somewhere else for the time being.

                Keep someone happy; keep the one most important to you happy.

                They never knew how much of an effect  _taking_ ,  **thinking** , and keeping might inflict on someone.

\---

                Three days pass.

\---

                Anxiety opens bleary eyes. The oaken color of his orbs are hazy and laced with – with – with  _something._ Something…  _painful._  There’s also such an unease in his posture that he seems fearful of something. He’s shaking vigorously, with each jitter shaking his small frame and sending him into a frenzy on the floor. All of this while he remains curled in on himself in such a tight position; every bone screaming in wretched agony because  _stop it, stop it, it hurts, move, move,_ ** _move_** _._

                Yet he can’t find the energy to do so.

                He tries to push himself out of his pitiful position; trying futilely to stretch his pained joints. All he can do is uncurl his hands from his legs and straighten his back minutely. His vision is blurry and dotted with white. He tries to blink the empty spots out of his eyes, yet all he can do is add to the pain he feels, because his eyes opening and closing are straining his muscles.

                ‘ _How the hell is that straining my muscles? Why is that straining my muscles?’_

                He furrows his brows, irritated with his body’s stubborn disagreement with him. He tries, stubbornly in retaliation, to push himself off of the floor. His jelly limbs push him off the ground, and he’s flooded with a sense of relief. He’s shaking despite the – usually – low amount of effort he should be using to keep himself upright, and then his vision swims in his eyes. His mind goes into overdrive and everything is just  _too much too much too much_  –

\---

_Everything is suddenly blurred and mixed together. The room around him is falling on all sides of him. It feels as though he’s on fire._

_He’s breathing and he isn’t, then he is again but there’s not enough –_ what’s happening somebody stop this –

_His white-knuckled hands grab at pale, sickly skin, and without his notice, he digs his nails into the thin skin and pink flesh – hard enough to draw blood. His hands and nails stain his skin red, and his breathing is so, utterly painful, he feels like he’s breathing through lungfuls of blood. And all of a sudden, he’s breathing so much his body doesn’t even register it._

_And it inflicts so much pain that doing anything is so, utterly hard._

_Hard enough to remind him that there’s something real – that what he’s feeling is real._

  And that only sends him spiraling deeper into the abyss.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if it's rather short... But!  
> Thank you all so much for the wonderful support you've shown at the beginning of this story! It really inspired/s me to write!


	4. Chapter 3: The Fire Brews

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fire brews as its embers grow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MINOR WARNING!  
> Some mention of blood, very small, though.  
> Please Enjoy!  
> All errors are mine.

* * *

                            _Blazing red, gloomy lines, and dull walls. Gleaming silver, beaten handle, dark figure, hooded eyes, broken bones, broken voice, broken mind, broken – what’s happening?_

_Crimson, steel, fabric, hands, grabbing, tearing, colours – everything is red – screaming, hands, wailing, pleading, praying – god, please, someone help – screeching, pushing, slipping, falling – everything is going too fast – thud, crack, clink, red, run, sounds, white, chaos, dark, pain –_

_Nothing._

\---

            Thomas startles awake for the eleventh time in three days.

            He still doesn’t know why he doesn’t feel anxious at  _all_.

            He would say that that’s making him  _anxious_ , but he isn’t. He’s just… disturbed.

            Or maybe he’s disturbed about something else? Given, he’s sitting up in a stark white bed – no duvet to keep him warm whatsoever, nor any laptop in sight to amuse him and let him take a look at his tumblr. It’s just a white bed, with white sheets, white walls, white tables, white machines, and he’s wearing not-so-white clothes.

            Hospital scrubs.

\---

            Right. He was in a hospital.

            He blinks repeatedly then shakes his head a small bit to clear away the muddled and mixed thoughts floating in his mind. There’s a slight disassociation with all of his thoughts and a slight feeling of something missing, so he decides that Logic must still be sleeping. His head is swimming with creative ideas, though, so Prince is most likely awake. There’s also a sprinkle of dad jokes, so Morality must be bustling as well. He sits there for a few more moments before he finally feels Logic coming to life and rushing to the ‘Commons’. He smiles a bit when Logic tells him, ‘ **You shouldn’t have waited for me! You should have eaten some biscuits from the snack machine or gotten some food delivered to the room. Morality’s been telling you to eat for ten minutes now!** ’ with a caring scolding.

            Thomas just shrugs and replies silently with a, ‘Yeah sure, sorry,’ and pushes himself off of the white hospital bed. It was unnerving to be so nonchalant about everything, Thomas had to admit. He never had noticed how much Anxiety had actually been  _needed_  in his life. He had almost been incredibly rude to a nurse, only saved by Morality’s panicked, ‘ _Common courtesy, Thomas!_ ’ because Anxiety hadn’t been there to say, ‘ ~~You say that and she might say something to the head doctor,~~ ’ and warn Thomas or at least be anxious about it.

            He swerves away from a nurse pushing a cart of cleaning supplies and heads for the cafeteria.

            He was going to be discharged today, if he wasn’t mistaken.

* * *

               _It had just been a normal day; just another simple day in a collection of simple days. Yet Thomas felt a great amount of unease._

_If you had been watching the news, you would be, too. Florida had suddenly been called home by a band of criminals, which set everyone on the edges of their seats. And of course, as he needed to buy groceries, he’d needed to leave his house; so Anxiety had been there the entire time._

_‘ ~~I don’t think that walking through this alley is a good idea, Thomas.~~ ’_

_While Thomas would have preferred it if he had used his car, he had been unable to use the vehicle, given it was being repaired after a small run-in with a stray dog. So Thomas walked on foot, and while Thomas agreed wholeheartedly with Anxiety, he didn’t really have a choice in this, so he dashed through the small pathway – the only way to the store from his house – in a rush and breathed in a sigh of relief when he reached the grocery store; and can finally buy the food and supplies he needed, both for himself, and maybe some things for the Emotions._

_After he bought all of his supplies – and held the bags with difficulty in his arms – he exited the grocery quickly, anxiety gnawing all the way through him. He rushed back home, walking through that same alleyway he felt so incredibly scared of, and Anxiety was suddenly panicking in his head._

_“ ~~You need to go faster, Thomas, there might be a burglar or murderer here; run, run,~~_ ~~run, run away~~ _ ~~, Thomas.~~_   _”_

_So Thomas did, overcome with the fear himself. That’s when he failed to notice the glint in front of him. The dangerous, metal glint, that told him only of the object that the shadow in front of him was hiding._

\----

_Everything went red, and there was a blazing pain in his abdomen._

_The air around him became laced with a coppery scent._

_Blood._

_He’d been stabbed._

* * *

            Thomas settles back onto his white hospital bed, sighing. He remembers how much screaming there had been in his head, then. It had been so chaotic in there, with everyone shouting all at the same time in a frenzy to try and get Thomas away from the person who’d just stabbed him. He frowns when he reminisces on Anxiety’s sudden silence after the event.

            That same silence has stayed there for three days. Not a single  _sound_  has come from the dark Emotion, which worries Thomas. Surely, the Emotion should have woken up by now and tried to get something from the ‘Commons’ if he were fine, wouldn’t he? Of course he would.  _Anyone_  would under normal circumstances. Which is why Thomas was so worried. None of the other three Emotions have said anything about Anxiety, either.

            He’d have to talk to the Emotion after he gets discharged.

\---

            It doesn’t go the way he wants to. It  _really_  does not.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO! This update was pretty early, I admit. (Which probably made it have really bad quality I'm so sorry) I was just really excited to get the story moving and tell you all about what happened! (Since I wasn't interested so much in the suspense of the backstory more than I'm invested in the aftereffects of the tragedy)  
> Thank you all so much for the support you've shown this story, and I promise to deliver!  
> I'll be looking forward to update this, since I've got quite a few ideas and some chapters already planned out!  
> Thank you~~!


	5. Chapter 4: The Blue Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blue is the color of the Fire.  
> Also of his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WAHHHH!  
> Thank you all so much for the wonderful support you've given me and this story! So here's another update!  
> MINOR WARNING:  
> Again, still some blood!  
> All errors are mine!

* * *

_Everything went red, and there was a blazing pain in his abdomen._

_The air around him became laced with a coppery scent._

_Blood._

_Thomas had been stabbed._

\---

             _Thomas had fallen, legs buckled under the sudden pain and the overriding senses and conflicts that burst from within him._

_So had Anxiety._

_\---_

_No, no, no, no,_ no.  _This isn’t supposed to be happening. Thomas isn’t supposed to be – he’s not supposed to be bleeding. No that’s what Anxiety was supposed to make him_ not _do. Why is Thomas –_

_\- because of him._

_\---_

_White hot pain seared through him, violating every nerve and crevice, threatening to burn him from the inside out. He didn’t want this. ~~He~~_ ~~didn’t want~~ _~~this.~~ _

             _The flames began to disperse throughout_ all of him _, spreading from his chest all the way to his toes and his head. Nowhere was safe. ~~Nowhere was safe. Nothing was safe.~~_

_Screams tore through his throat, suddenly erupting from his pale lips and reverberating all throughout the—where was he –_ ~~I don’t know someone help me – what is this room why is it so dark – there’s so much pain what’s happening – somebody save me –~~

_He heard someone shouting – two someones – and all he could think is that they’d do so much better than him._

             _His eyes rolled back into his head, cold sweat breaking through him. His breathing was too erratic; he’s breathing too much and at the same time not – he was going to get an attack –_

             _The flames engulfed him whole._

* * *

             Thomas sighs in delight once he sees his familiar house come into view. He bids his parents goodbye, and promises them – and he promises himself, too – that he’ll take good care of himself. He turns the keys to his home and smiles, hearing the familiar ‘ _click’._  That’s when everything seems to finally start falling into place. He sits himself down at his sofa, breathing in the scent of his home for a few moments. Nostalgia nuzzles gently against him, and he’s easily lulled into a peaceful sleep.

            The same cannot be said for Anxiety.

\---

            Morality, Logic, and Prince all let out a relieved sigh once Thomas falls asleep. Thomas has been awake for around twenty-nine hours, so hyped up for the return home that they all feel so tired and drained. However, Morality raises a concern that the three – or was it two? – of them all want to address before they rest and sleep.

            Anxiety.

            They still hadn’t seen him. Not a single peep. There were times where they could feel his presence stir, send an overwhelming amount of pain and sadness – times they did not mind him – yet even those moments were short. Morality frowns, concern lacing his features now.

            “We haven’t heard from him in these past three days,” Morality says solemnly, and Logic and Prince turn to look at him. It’s obvious that the other two know exactly  _him_  is, yet Prince’s face is indifferent. A stark contrast to Logic’s who is  _genuinely_  concerned.

            “I just feel like we should visit him, you know?” Morality continues, his usually cheerful attitude dropping. Logic shuffled, eyes darting to and fro. Morality was doing much the same, though more visibly and even more tense. Prince, however, barely bats an eye.

            “I do agree with you,” Logic pipes up. “But given how…  _cold_  we’ve been… Maybe we should let him come to us?” he suggests. Morality shakes his head sadly.

            “I’m concerned about his  _health_ , Logic. He hasn’t left his room in  _three days_. He hasn’t been able to  _eat_ ,” Morality says. Logic’s eyes reflect understanding even prior to Morality’s concerned statement, and there’s so much conflict in their orbs.

            “… I-I know. It’s just… He probably hates us, doesn’t he?” Logic mutters guiltily.

            Morality sends a wry smile. “Well, we can’t say unless we try… right?” he says, yet his words lack confidence.

            Morality’s deep emotions only seem to sink into sadness.

            Logic’s blunt and truthful words are tinged with sorrow and regret.

            Prince’s regal attitude further breaks Anxiety apart.

* * *

              ** _ ~~It’s dark. I’ve never seen anything this dark.~~_**

             ~~Help. It’s suffocating. It’s painful. It hurts. It’s~~ ~~_everywhere._~~

             ~~I can’t breathe. Someone pull me up to the surface.~~ ~~_Please_~~ ~~. Anyone.~~ ~~_Anyone at all._~~

             ~~Does nobody care? Does nobody remember?~~

            …

             ~~Does nobody want me?~~

* * *

~~~~Morality slinks around Anxiety’s room, Logic and Prince trailing behind him. Dragging moments finally pass, and Morality stops pacing. The deeply emotive Emotion heaves in a deep breath, then stills in front of dark mahogany doors.

            Anxiety’s room.

            Logic is looking nervously at the door, fidgeting. Morality’s shaking slightly, his fingers unable to keep in one place.

            Prince is only sparing a few glances at the door.

            A few more moments pass, and Morality finally grips hard on the doorknob. He feels a small sting; something deep and dark taking over his happy-go-lucky nerves. He wills himself to turn to knob quickly; and the door opens, only presenting more darkness from inside the four dim walls.

            He treads carefully into the room, feeling shrouded by clouds of sadness and hurt and…  _hopelessness_. His entire body is wracking with goosebumps, but he isn’t going to stop now. Not when he’s doing this for someone he cares –

            Morality freezes.

            Logic bumps into the father’s backside, with Prince at the bespectacled Thomas’ side. Logic looks up in a confused manner, but his head stops halfway through. Prince, who has been all  _but_  attentive, finally turns his head to the source of—

\---

            It’s the first time Morality’s been so full of pain.

            It’s the first time that the stoic Logic has been so close to tears.

            It’s the first time this entire week that Prince looks at Anxiety.

            It’s also the first time that Prince has ever thought he made a mistake.

\---

            The dark Emotion is there.

            But he’s so  _pale_  so  _sickly_. So  _hurt_  and so  _small_  and he’s so many things –  _sick, pained, shivering, shaking, sad_ – but most of all he’s  _there._

            It’s Morality’s terrified voice that asks what they all want to know the answer to.

            “ _Is he really there?_ ”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo yehhhhh  
> IDK but the writing changed quite a bit at the end im so sorry it looks so bad ughhhhhh (I might edit this later idk it bad)  
> But yeah.  
> Thank you all so much for the kudos and the comments and the EVERYTHING!  
> I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH! IF I COULD ALL GIVE YOU BUTTERFLY KISSES!  
> But yeahhhhh! Hope it's ok?  
> (again im so sorry for the quality but again also thank youuuuuu)


	6. Chapter 5: The Fire Burns and Burns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fire can only do one thing.  
> Burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAHHHHH THANK YOU EVERYONE FOR THE SUPPORT!  
> MINOR WARNING!  
> Some depictions of verbal hate/abuse and some grotesque thoughts. Also! SWEARING!  
> Please enjoy! All errors are mine!

* * *

            Moments dawdle on. The dark room around them causes their souls to dim as well. Against the dark lighting of the four walls, bright lights emanate from each of the figures; an aura for each Emotion. The three figures are stock-still, seemingly frozen as fear and terror drift through the air and permeate their auras. A sad, broken,  _terrified_  sound cuts through the air.

            Only then do the three spur into action.

* * *

               ~~It hurts so much. Everything hurts.~~

_You only bring pain._

             ~~But nobody will help me.~~

**You never do anything right.**

            ~~Not me.~~

            You're nothing more than trash.

            ~~Not the sad shit. Not the emo fuck.~~

            **_You're just thoughts. Just ideas. Nothing more. You're just a waste of space._**

  _ ~~Because I deserve it.~~_

            ** _You break everything you touch._**

            _~~Because -~~_

**_ You hurt everyone around you._ **

_~~\- I -~~_

**_ You're just another villain._ **

  _ ~~\- hurt -~~_

**_  Something fit to destroy._ **

            ~~him.~~

* * *

              Morality is the first to move. He drops down to the dark, wooden floor, opposite to Anxiety. The dark Emotion’s frame is enveloped in a dark sort of light, tar-like vines grabbing out at everything. Morality forces his hand out and reaches for Anxiety's pale wrist. 

            As soon as his fingertips touch the other's skin, darkness takes over his eyes.

\---

            Logic exclaimsin shock when Morality lets out a screech. The father’s bright aura spikes with specks of grey momentarily. The eldest Emotion teeters backwards at an awkward angle; and Logic reaches out, guiding the tottering emotive Emotion to settle back comfortably on the floor. Logic casts a worried glance at Morality, whose eyes are swimming with a foreign emotion. Then, as if it was never there, the unfamiliar emotion seeps out of Morality's warm eyes. Yet a more familiar emotion slips into light hazel orbs.

_Panic._

_\---_

          Prince looks between the two, eyebrows drawn together in a confused manner.

                    What just happened?

            He pulls out of his reverie when Anxiety's body  _spasms on the floor uncontrollably_. Morality is still being cradled by Logic, and the two Emotions are facing away from the darker Emotion, leaving Prince to bear witness to Anxiety's writhing. 

            He's the embodiment of courage.

            Yet he feels none. 

            Not when he can only feel complete and utter  _weakness_  as he watches the figure seize up, shaking. 

            It's too late when he calls for help.

* * *

            _~~I need to breathe.~~_

_~~I can't breathe.~~_

_~~It hurts.~~_

_~~It hurts too much to breathe.~~_

_~~Everything is on fire.~~_

_~~It's so painful.~~_  

_._

_._

_._

_~~I deserve this, don't I?~~  _

* * *

              Both Morality and Logic look up in alarm when Prince makes a disgruntled sound. Morality's eyes are a frenzy of instincts. He only thinks of how to care and how to protect, his most basic role. 

            Logic has eyes full of confusion. Where are the facts here? This entire predicament is so  _illogical_. Why is everything so messy and muddled? Why aren't things linear? His curiosity and will to understand overtakes him.

            Anxiety's natural response to any outside stimulus is anxiety. So even the slight peep from Prince sends him into yet another frenzy of  _jerking_  and  _writhing_  and  _thrashing, flailing, twisting –_

\---

_**He screams.**_

\---

          Morality pales, the garbled shriek ringing in his ears. The yell echoes around the room in an eerie sort of vibrato. It’s a deep, guttural, terrified,  _ ~~someone save me—~~_ sound. He’s never heard Anxiety so…  _raw._  How could he, when Anxiety puts so much effort into building all of these walls around him?  When Anxiety wants to be seen as all  _but_  weak?

           _When Anxiety wants to keep it to himself that he_ hated himself?

\---

          It’s Logic’s turn to scramble to Anxiety’s side; his hands ghosting over the darker Emotion’s skin for a moment and instead settling on the dark fabric of Anxiety’s hoodie. Anxiety’s convulsing ceases temporarily, shifting into a powerful shaking. Logic turns the wracking frame towards him, and he goes white as paper.

          Yet Anxiety is still somehow paler.

          Anxiety is so very  _weak_  - for lack of better word.  ~~(~~ _ ~~Because weak didn’t necessarily count for god awful shaking and blue lips and white knuckles and deep, dark bags under eyes and--~~_ ~~)~~. His entire body is covered in cold sweat, as if there was a thin film encasing him. His honey-brown hair is matted and greased, yet messy despite the obscene amounts of grease and oil. Logic knows the reason why.

          Logic is so lost, so confused, so  _clueless_  because he  _doesn’t know what to do_. What do you do when a Emotion is writhing on the floor in pain as he screams? What do you do when the Emotion is sick and seemingly  _hurt_  but you can’t stop the fact that they’re too  _pained_  to let anyone touch them? What do you do when the reason their hair is so tangled because of the fact that even in their dreams  _they’re shaking and writhing?_

          He forgets to breathe when Anxiety’s screams lower into pitiful whimpers. He also forgets to breathe when the  ~~(~~ _ ~~sick, hurt, weak~~_ ~~)~~  dark Emotion’s eyes peek out from under long  ~~(~~ _ ~~tear stained~~_ ) lashes.

          Because all he sees is the pool of unending misery and despair staining coffee orbs.

\---

          Prince’s thoughts bounce all around his mind as he watches the onslaught. Conflict ricochets throughout him and his distress shows, evidently.

          A sudden, choking realization dawns on him, threatening to suffocate him. Vines and rope wrap around his throat, and he mouths helplessly, no sound coming out of his parted lips. He can only stare - helpless – as Logic hovers frantic hands over Anxiety. As Morality’s eyes darken and the optimistic Thomas’ aura – supposedly bright and all shades of aesthetic – dims and dulls.

          Abruptly, he stills, and his bright, glowing aura is woven with tight ribbons of regret and sorrow.

* * *

            _I did this._

            _ ~~Everything burns.~~_

_~~It’s so painful.~~_

_~~I never wanted this.~~_

_~~I never wanted to hurt him.~~_

_~~But I did.~~_

_~~I did because I’m selfish and I can’t think and I’m worthless and I’m nothing more than absolute fucking~~_ ~~trash~~ _~~and I don’t belong and I’m just a piece of fucking shit and I deserve this because I’m trash I hurt people I’m just pain, shit, worthless, a waste of space, useless, badshitworthlessawasteofspaceuselesspainshitworthlessawasteofspaceuseless –~~ _

           _ ~~I~~_ ~~deserve~~ _ ~~this.~~_

_~~Because trash deserves to burn.~~_

_~~Because~~_ ~~I~~ _~~deserve to burn.~~ _

* * *

            _The flames ate him alive._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the wonderful support you've been giving this story! It really inspires me to write more!  
> So in this chapter, we get to see the full extent of how badly injured/hurt Anxiety is! I'm not too sure if it gets the real damage through, though... I hope you all liked it, and thank you so much for your support throughout this story!!!  
> THANK YOU!!!!


	7. Chapter 6: The Inferno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fire blazes into an Inferno.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you all for the amazing support you've been giving me!  
> MINOR TRIGGER! Some self-hate in here! Not too major, though (?).  
> Hope you all like it! All errors are mine!

* * *

           _ ~~I deserve to burn.~~_

_~~I deserve to hurt.~~_

_~~I deserve all of this.~~_

_._

_._

_._

_~~I deserve to die.~~_

* * *

            Thomas wakes up more tired than he was when he slept, which confuses him in many more ways than one. He also hears a lot of… buzzing. Which confuses him even  _more_  because he’s feeling all sorts of morality and logic and creativity, meaning the three corresponding Emotions are awake; but it’s so… silent. It’s just… an incessant buzzing.

          Almost like… something is blocking it? Maybe even some _one?_

          Thomas scrunches up his eyebrows in a baffled expression. He could always call them to the Physical Landscape, but he feels that them leaving the Mindscape right now would  _not_  be the best thing to do. It’s a gut feeling. Quite literally, actually, because Thomas’ stomach churns at the idea of him calling them over to materialize.

          He pushes himself off the bed with a harrumph, and then heads downstairs to get himself some breakfast.

\---

          Thomas returns from his small breakfast – a few pieces of bread with some butter and a cold cup of water – and all he can hear is still buzzing. Saying he wasn’t concerned would be a complete and utter lie. And saying that his worry about Anxiety hadn’t worsened was an even worse falsification.

          He’d dreamt of the dark Emotion, actually. Well, not dreamt… more like… had a nightmare.

          A nightmare that - he must admit - completely and utterly  _terrifies him._

          And it terrifies him even more when the first sound he finally hears pierce through the buzzing in his mind is the sound that begins his nightmares.

* * *

  _~~All that I can do is destroy.~~_

_~~But maybe…~~_

_~~Maybe this one time…~~_

_~~Maybe I can be destroyed.~~_

_~~Maybe I can finally burn.~~_

* * *

            Logic remembers to breathe when Anxiety forgets.

          Anxiety’s burdened eyes widen when the dark Emotion registers that his lungs have no more oxygen in them. He’s suddenly grasping on the floorboards, panic stabbing at every surface. His fingernails bear into the wood, turning his fingers and knuckles white with the force. The cold sweat encasing him turns into a cascade, the heat brought on by his shaking adding to the perspiration. He’s so close to the edge – _teetering off the brink –_

          Then Logic whispers, “You’re not breathing, Anxiety. You need to breathe,” shakily, and it’s out of pure instinct that Anxiety follows.

          But he falls off anyway, because that voice  _is_ the brink.

\---

          Logic had turned incoherent for a few moments, where Anxiety had been clutching desperately at the floor. Then he had whispered, voice cracking and all but steady, that Anxiety needed to breathe. And the first fleeting moments where Anxiety gulped in air were so  _utterly_  precious.

          Yet the coffee irises turned white as eyelids dropped back close.

          And the precious moment is tarnished by the fact that Anxiety’s eyes were terrified beyond belief.

          Terrified beyond belief of  _Logic._

\---

          Morality scurries over to them, expression darkened and grim. And there’s definitely also empathy. Morality had always been empathetic.

          It had been a rather bad time when he had lost his empathy for Anxiety and let go of too many harsh words. So his empathy right now is telling him that touching Anxiety would not only hurt Morality, but also Anxiety.

          Morality’s expression turns even grimmer because he knows that Anxiety has all the right in the world to do so. Because it really is their fault.

          Tears come to his eyes.

           _Because it really is_ their _fault._

\---

          Prince gulps down air, feet heavy in his boots. There’s a painfully loud clicking that resonates in the  _ ~~(silent – too silent)~~  _quiet room as he walks over to the three in the center of the room. He stops beside Logic, regal posture hunched with regret. Oaken eyes that usually twinkle with creative optimism are now filled with guilt.

          He drops down, hands idle as he observes.

          Anxiety’s body shudders, bones and teeth chattering together in pain. The episode of hyperventilation took such a toll that he looks – somehow – unhealthier than he was when they had seen him. The pale skin seems almost pallid and translucent – and not in the desirable way.

          Logic, then, looks like he’s going to be sick. With having dealt with Anxiety’s wake, it was logical for the enlightened Thomas to feel that way. Yet everyone in the room is pretty sure that that isn’t the only reason Logic’s body is quivering.

          Because Logic’s eyes are haunted with something deep in them that swirls around the irises of the other two Emotions in the room.

\---

          Thomas feels incredibly queasy. His stomach is doing flips, and there are butterflies fluttering around it. He feels like his breakfast is going to come back up, and his body might turn itself inside out.

          Reasonable, if you take into stride the fact he’s heard one of his Emotions scream in the past half hour. The Emotion that never screams, no less.

          The Emotion that only groans even at cuts and bruises.

          The Emotion that seemed so strong even when inside he was crumbling.

          When it was  _Anxiety._

          The Emotion that had  _screamed_  in complete and utter  _pain and anguish and hurt and despair and turmoil and oh god why is he screaming what’s hurting him –_

          And it’s all in the nick of time when Thomas hovers himself over the toilet bowl, and his breakfast comes back up and down into the pristine ceramic.

* * *

             _The Fire brims to an Inferno._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you all for the support you've been giving this story!  
> Also.  
> OH MY GOD YES FINALLY THOMAS GAVE HIS EMOTIONS NAMES I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS MOMENT I WAS SO HAPPY WHEN LOGIC WAS LOGAN BECAUSE THAT WAS MY HEADCANON NAME OH MY GOOODDDDDDDDDDD  
> What are your other headcanon names? Mine's Alexander for Anx, Elliot for Prince, and David for Morality! (yes omg so creative ikr def didn't just get the first or last letters of their traits)  
> Ahhhhh anyway thank you again so much for all the support!!  
> I hope you look forward to the next updates! Thank you all!


	8. Chapter 7: The Fiery Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fire begins its feast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so very much for the support! Again, all errors are mine. Minor warning for: some blood, and also some dark thoughts! Enjoy!

* * *

            _ ~~It’s so dark.~~_

  _ ~~It’s so painful.~~_ ~~~~

_~~It’s so agonizing, hopeless, broken, painfuldarkhurtingdarkbrokenhohelpmeagonizing~~_ ~~~~

_~~It’s all so wrong.~~_ ~~~~

_~~It’s all so…~~_ ~~me.~~

* * *

             Morality turns the Mindscape upside-down and inside-out. Logic stares after the decimated remains of the emotive Emotion’s warpath, horrified and completely, utterly  _afraid_. A million thoughts are running amok in his mind and they’re all going a mile a minute. He’s always seen the parent as calm and collected. Not quite in the ‘cold’ way that he was, but more the fact that the other would pull them out of bad situations.

            So he doesn’t know what to do when it’s Morality who’s frustrated and breaking things.

\---

            Prince knows even less of what to do. He never meddled in these types of conflicts. He locks gazes with the floor, and bites his lips anxio – worriedly. He hears Morality growl in a frustrated tone, and he looks up. Morality’s glasses are askew, his hair tousled, and his clothes crumpled – especially his cardigan. But Prince knows exactly what he’s looking at when he sees the other’s eyes - glazed, unfocused, dilated, and shaking irises.

            He knows what fear and loss of control looks like.

            He’s sure his eyes reflect the same emotion as Morality drops to the floor sobbing.

* * *

              _ ~~Why is it so hot?~~_ ~~~~

_~~It – It’s burning.~~_ ~~~~

_~~It’s scorching hot~~_ ~~~~

_~~Wait I don’t think I can handle this wait a second please stop no I don’t want to~~_ ~~~~

_~~I don’t want to wake up please no~~_ ~~~~

_~~I’m sorry please no don’t bring me there~~_ ~~~~

_~~No I don’t want to see them they don’t want to see me~~_ ~~~~

_~~Please don’t~~_ ~~~~

~~I’m sorry.~~

\---

  _ ~~Everything’s blurry. I can barely see. Everything is so heavy. I can’t move.~~_ ~~~~

~~Shit.~~

             _ ~~I can’t breathe.~~_ ~~~~

\---

             _ ~~It’s only echoes.~~_ ~~~~

_~~Deep, faint, rumbling echoes.~~_ ~~~~

_~~Everything feels heavy. Everything feels leaden.~~_ ~~~~

\---

            He wakes up.

* * *

             Anxiety opens bleary eyes, coffee orbs swirling with pain and confusion. He  _tries_  to push himself off the ground, but his body doesn’t want to respond. His body only twitches; and even  _that_  sends him reeling. He tries to rein in his senses, because he still isn’t sure the  _what,_  the  _where_ , the  _when,_  the  _who_ , the  _why_ , and the  _how._  All he’s sure is that it…

            It  _hurts._

_Everything hurts._

\---

            The room is swirling, falling, merging, breaking, and tearing all at the same time. Everything is on  _fire_  and it’s also ice and it  _burns_ ; it  _hurts_. He can barely see anything and he can’t feel himself breathe but he’s sure that he  _isn’t breathing,_  so he tries to take in air but that sends nails through his throat and that makes him  _scream,_  and it’s so  _painful, agonizing, chaotic,_  and he wishes it would  _stop_  but it  _won’t_.

            And then the room shifts.

            And then he sees someone.

            He sees himself.

            Except he doesn’t wear a red hoodie.

            He doesn’t wear shorts.

             _Thomas does._

* * *

             Thomas hears the buzzing again before it happens. The stubborn wall is put up again, but he feels waves and rolls of emotion pierce through the gaps. He staggers once, when a warm voice – supposed to be warm – cries out in desperation. His eyes widen, and his eyebrows crease in worry.

             _‘What’s happened to Morality?’_

            Then there’s a flicker of fear that sparks in him  _ ~~(in the Mindscape)~~_  and he’s so  _worried_  because -

             _‘Logic? Is that you? What’s happening?’_

            But he stops entirely when he feels Prince.

            Because Prince was  _never_  helpless.

\---

            He snaps back to life when he feels  _it_.

             _Pain, hurt, agony, chaos, suffering, turmoil, torture, grief, misery, desolation, heartbreak._

_._

_._

_._

_Anxiety._

\---

            Thomas keels over at the sheer force of the pain, his vision blurring and his breaths stuttering. Everything is swimming in his vision, and black threatens to take over his surroundings. Yet as abruptly as the pain begins, it stops. He doesn’t know how to feel about the reprieve. All he knows is that he needs Anxiety to come up here and tell him _what the hell is going on._

\---

          He never wanted _this_ to happen.

* * *

           _~~Why is he here?~~_

 _~~Why am~~_ ~~I _here?_~~

_~~No, no, no this isn’t supposed to be happening.~~_

_~~Get him away from me I’m going to hurt him again.~~_

_~~Get~~_ ~~me _away from him I’m going to hurt him._~~

_~~Again.~~_

_~~And again.~~_

_~~And again and again and again and againagainagainagainagain—~~_

_~~I don’t want to hurt him anymore.~~_

_\---_

Thomas pales when he senses the shift.

          _‘No, crap, I didn’t mean to call him here. No, no, no, no what do I do can I send him back –‘_

          Anxiety lays there, on the floor, coffee-stain eyes piercing Thomas’ own.

          Thomas sees him. All he can see is a wracking frame, sweating skin, mourning eyes, shaking hands, paling lips, unmoving lips, and a hurting, _hurting_ persona.

\---

          He doesn’t know what makes him do it, or _how_ he does it.

          He drops next to the unbreathing personality and _holds him_.

\---

          “Anxiety, hey, look, I need you to take a deep breath,” Thomas says, gently, while gently holding the _~~(broken)~~ _ persona’s arm. Anxiety shakes his head weakly, eyes filled with extreme fatigue and agony. Not even moments later, his eyes widen, and they’re filled with _complete and absolute pain_. A plethora of coughs emit from Anxiety’s throat, the recoil sending him on his side and forcing him to coil around himself to ease the pain in his chest.

          Thomas stares after him, horrified.

          _Anxiety was coughing up blood._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH Thank you all so much for the undying support and never-ending love you give this story! I'm sorry it took so long to update! Not only was there school, the wi-fi I had was bad and all that jazz.  
> Anyway, thank you all so much! I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
